


ain't lookin' for enemies

by Elleh



Category: SK8 the Infinity (Anime)
Genre: Balcony Sex, Canon Compliant, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, i watched ep 7 and piercings happened
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-12 14:07:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29635764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elleh/pseuds/Elleh
Summary: “You know,” he says conversationally, knowing full well Kaoru will hate the idea, “I have an amazing view from here.”A beat of silence. They are so close Kojiro feels the second Kaoru understands his implication.“Absolutely not. Are you insane? Of course, you are, but on top of that, you are an imbecile if you think I’d contemplate for a second—“And yet he doesn’t resist when Kojiro pushes him towards the balcony, his mouth drawing a path of wet kisses on his neck. Kaoru’s hands grip his shoulders with punishing strength, his knees wobbling when Kojiro manages to press his leg against his straining cock.“Fuck you, Kojiro,” Kaoru gasps. Kojiro smiles against his neck.“Yeah, that’s the plan.”(In which Kojiro remembers young Kaoru with piercings and that gets him very much in the mood)
Relationships: Nanjo Kojiro | Joe/Sakurayashiki Kaoru | Cherry Blossom
Comments: 7
Kudos: 428





	ain't lookin' for enemies

**Author's Note:**

> me: doesn't finish a single fic in like a year
> 
> sk8 and Cherry/Joe: happens
> 
> me: well i guess is time to write 4k of smut in a single morning
> 
>   
> I guess this is my entrance to the SK8 fandom. This was prompted by chapter 7 and the wonder that is Sakurayashiki Kaoru with piercings. 
> 
> I super apologize for any typos/mistakes, this was not beta-ed and I wrote this on my phone because suffering is a style of life and it's mine. Hope you enjoy it!!

There are great things about being the proud owner of a known restaurant: the satisfaction of knowing your food is _that_ good, seeing your name and your restaurant’s in this article or in that TV program, and of course it’s always lovely to pose for a picture with one of your cute customers every odd day. 

What Kojiro loves the most, though, what he will never say out loud—he even hates thinking about it, sometimes—is having a begrudgingly loyal customer that sits down to eat his food every other week. Face twisted in contempt when Kojiro approaches and thanks to their patronage—Kaoru seldom comes on his own when it’s light outside—, eyes crinkled when Kojiro dares send his way a wink right after serving his food. 

Tragic, really, that Kaoru’s visits should make Kojiro’s heart race and his lips twist in a smile, but there you have it. Kaoru is a thankless prick that pulls out Kojiro’s worst qualities, and yet here they are. Dancing around each other and enjoying it as if they were still teenagers trying to fuck-rage each other out of their systems. 

The never-ending cycle of repeat should have gotten boring by now. The bickering, and the hate fucking in closets and in hidden corners, rushed and harsh because they always tease each other too much too far when they ought to be doing something else. 

Kojiro looks now at the pristine white of the kitchen’s wall and remembers the mind-blowing fuck they had on the way to the hot springs while waiting for the others to arrive. How Kaoru had almost bitten his head off, and still had pushed Kojiro off his skate and between two bushes before going to his knees and swallowing him without a thought. How he’d left Kojiro right on the edge—the fucking bastard, he enjoys doing that way too much—and had stepped back on his skate before flying off again; the _I am winning this, you stupid monkey_ finally kicking Kojiro out of his horny haze and prompting him to follow. How Kaoru was so high on his win they’d barely made it to the changing room before he’d thrown his yukata on the floor and pointed his pale back towards Kojiro, demanding, pleading. 

How Kojiro had grabbed his hair and then his hip, and had fucked him there, against the wall, raw and with just the exact amount of lube for it to be painfully pleasurable. For Kaoru to burn through it, until he was so desperate he could do nothing but beg. 

Kaoru liked to be fucked roughly enough for him to feel it for a week, and Kojiro loved to comply. At least when he could leave the shape of his fingers on Kaoru’s beautiful pallor and know the ghost memory of his cock fucking into Kaoru would accompany him until their next encounter. 

So, it is safe to say Kojiro might have a thing for Kaoru. For fucking him, that is. It’s impressive that people are still oblivious to the fact they’ve been on each other’s dicks since high school, especially with how obvious it is that the way they fight—in the S, on a skate, in public in general—is just foreplay. 

Maybe not just foreplay. Kojiro’s not entirely sure Kaoru’s feelings towards him are of the tender-but-must-be-hidden variety. In truth, that would be somewhat off-putting. Fucking someone who so vocally despises you is a kink Kojiro didn’t know he had, but that he can’t imagine a life without anymore. 

“Chef, Sakurayashiki-san is here again,” his hall staff says, kicking Kojiro out of his daydreaming. 

He plasters a smile on his lips—the one that makes girls swoon and Kaoru _tsk_ —and thanks her before following her to the hall. 

Kaoru is sitting on the counter, next to a man way younger than Kojiro’s used for his customers. They are both talking animatedly, which in Kaoru’s case means that his posed and composed presence is accentuated by a gleam in his eyes and a tender slope to his lips. 

“Good afternoon, gentlemen.”

“Ah, Nanjo-san! A pleasure to make your acquaintances,” the young man says, beaming at him. “My father adores your food, so I thought I’d bring Sakurayashiki-san so he can try it as well.”

Kojiro bows his head in Kaoru's direction. The young man is intent on his reaction, which forces Kaoru to politely bow back and keep his face straight. Kojiro grins, in that way that has made more than a girl’s knees weak, but that now makes Kaoru’s eye twitch. 

Fuck, he’s beautiful when he’s pissed. 

“A pleasure to have you both here. Do you already know what you’ll be having?” 

They both order, Kaoru—his usual—in a quiet tone. Kojiro bows one last time, smiling widely and makes his way back to the kitchen. He whistles while he cooks, his good humor over the roof. Kaoru hasn’t been around for almost two weeks; Kojiro might have teased him a bit too much last time. Probably been fucked twice but not being allowed to come even once had put him in a sore mood, but it’d been worth it. 

Kojiro finishes the dishes, and on top of Kaoru’s— _spaghetti all'arrabbiata_ —he puts a sakura flower, soft and tender the way Kaoru is pliable under his hands. Fragile, almost, except Kaoru’s slender body seems made of steel when Kojiro’s hands find him and mold him. A single flower that looks harmless and out of place in the red-tainted dish, but that brings in Kaoru’s cheeks the rapid flush of heat as soon as he sees it. 

“Enjoy your meal, gentlemen,” Kojiro says, unabashed. 

Kaoru’s golden glare isn’t diminished by his glasses. Kojiro doesn’t miss how he grabs the sakura flower and crushes it in his palm, but Kojiro only laughs silently knowing perfectly well the message has been received; and accepted. 

*

They never make plans in advance, except for those days when Kaoru comes to the restaurant. In advance might be somewhat of a stretch, because saying through a flower _come to mine tonight to fuck_ isn’t exactly a full-on conversation with compliance or claudication. 

Which is to say, Kojiro has no clue if Kaoru will show up at his place tonight. After all, that denied orgasm might still be playing with Kaoru’s reasoning. 

Kojiro’s in his bed, wearing only his pajama pants because a man has the right to be hopeful, wasting time on his phone. He’s scrolling through Instagram, liking every skate video—well, that trick is interesting, better save it to try it next time—and every picture of a half–naked body he sees, when something catches his attention. 

For a second he thinks it’s Kaoru in a life long gone. The light hair is up on one side, showing the shell of his ear, glittering silver. Kojiro zooms in. It isn’t Kaoru, the man doesn’t even share an iota of the perfect features or the pristine white skin, but the line of piercings in his ear _is_ so close to those Kaoru wore when they were younger that it kicks Kojiro in the gut. 

He remembers the day Kaoru had arrived at school, lip ended with the most appealing of final points, a silver ring that caught the sun every time Kaoru mocked him. He remembered the mad impulse of reaching up and caressing the whorls of his ear, now a map of thin and thick metal pieces that fit his paleness so perfectly it was uncanny to watch. 

Kojiro had forgotten. Not about young Kaoru, and definitely not about how much he’d pissed him off and how bad that made him want to fuck him silly. But about the rebel look of Kaoru then, so at odds with the proper serious man that was a master in calligraphy today. About the way Kojiro had spent more than one class fantasizing about the dents of those holes, and how they’d feel under his tongue. 

There’s a knock at the door. Kojiro’s been so caught up in fantasies of the past he barely registers he’s half-hard before he springs off the bed. 

Kaoru’s wearing a light yukata, a twist on his lips and a glare that throws gasoline to the fires of Kojiro’s want when he opens the door. 

Kojiro swallows the flashing memories of Kaoru being young and reckless, and grins at him, mouth dry. 

“You wanted to see me,” Kaoru says. “So here I am.”

“I didn’t invite you to look at your face, Kaoru.”

“Oh, shut up.”

Kaoru pushes him out of the way and enters, closing the door softly behind him. The entrance space is narrow and Kojiro isn’t backing away. Kaoru’s eyes throw daggers at him, but he says nothing. He just kicks his sandals off and presses himself to Kojiro’s naked chest. His breath is hot and wet against Kojiro’s ear when he says, “If you don’t make me come tonight I will fucking end you.”

What can a man do to such a threat? A wiser man would go to his knees and make Kaoru come here and now; an intelligent man would probably fucking him good and long against the door. 

Kojiro, which apparently is neither, simply licks Kaoru’s ear in return—are the holes still there, he wonders—and whispers, “What if I fuck you all night long, come once in your mouth, once in your ass and once on your back, and still don’t let you come? I think you’d be back here anyway in a week demanding me to fuck you.”

Kaoru pinches the tender skin of his side in retribution and Kojiro yelps. They are close enough Kojiro can feel the hard line of Kaoru’s cock against his stomach, which has gone to full hardness before Kojiro could finish saying his bullshit. It has its appeal, coming in Kaoru so many times as to paint his whole body, but Kojiro _isn’t_ a monster. 

“Come to bed,” he says, a hand on Kaoru’s lower back, the perfect slope for his palm. Kojiro is pressing him close, closer still, until they stumble into the apartment more than walk through it. 

“What has happened to you? Didn’t know you were such a gentleman. _Bed_ ,” Kaoru scoffs. 

“I can fuck you against a window if that’d made you happier.”

“Coming at some point in the next millennia would make me happier.”

Kojiro doesn’t take them to bed. Kaoru is in a mood to fuck in odd places, it seems, and Kojiro has been meaning to give his balcony a better use for quite some time. 

“You know,” he says conversationally, knowing full well Kaoru will hate the idea, “I have an amazing view from here.”

A beat of silence. They are so close Kojiro feels the second Kaoru understands his implication. 

“Absolutely _not_. Are you insane? Of course, you are, but on top of that, you are an imbecile if you think I’d contemplate for a second—“

And yet he doesn’t resist when Kojiro pushes him towards the balcony, his mouth drawing a path of wet kisses on his neck. Kaoru’s hands grip his shoulders with punishing strength, his knees wobbling when Kojiro manages to press his leg against his straining cock. 

“Fuck you, Kojiro,” Kaoru gasps. Kojiro smiles against his neck. 

“Yeah, that’s the plan.” The sliding door is unlocked, so Kojiro just needs to push it with his toes and there they are, the soft Okinawan breeze brushing their overheated skins. “To fuck. Here, while looking at the ocean where everyone can hear you moan.”

“I will murder—“

Kojiro shuts him up with a kiss. Kaoru has a pretty mouth when it’s not spitting threats, and it’s especially beautiful when it yields under his as soon as their lips touch. There’s no fight in Kaoru’s kisses, in comparison to the rest of his body when they fuck, or just exist. Kaoru’s fingers dig in his naked skin, and Kojiro can’t help it: he dips his hand lower, into the valley of Kaoru’s ass, while the other grabs his thigh and pushes him up. The yukata opens like a flower come spring, and underneath beautified naked skin. Kaoru makes a sound against Kojiro’s mouth, complaint or complacency, difficult to tell, but still, he circles Kojiro’s hips with his legs, the perfect leverage. 

Kojiro’s drowning in him, the heat of his want, the demanding kisses that keep coming while he grinds his cock against his stomach. There’s an early moon shining a path in the sky, and Kojiro wants to throw up when the thought the moonlight turns Kaoru into the most beautiful vision he’s ever seen crosses his mind. 

“You better make me come,” Kaoru gasps, desperate now. “Fuck.” He moans when Kojiro’s hands both meet on the underside of his ass, fingers light and teasing. Kaoru arches back, hands on Kojiro’s nape, and pushes down so his fingers properly touch his rim. “Shit. I can’t believe you fucked me twice and didn’t let me come. I am so fucking pissed at you. Bastard.”

Instead of answering, Kojiro mouths at Kaoru’s exposed neck, the taut lines of his tendons, the mount of his Adam’s apple. Kaoru’s trying to ride his fingers to no avail, getting louder and more impatient by the second. 

“Fucking gorilla, fuck me already.”

Kojiro bites him. The shudder is as satisfactory as feeling Kaoru’s hole twitch under his finger. 

“I’ve been thinking,” Kojiro says, and slams Kaoru’s back against the wall beside the door. Kaoru grunts, never letting go. “Where are your piercings?”

“Huh?” Kaoru blinks down at him. “What’s with that change of mood?”

“Not a change,” Kojiro says, pushing one of the sides of the yukata over and off Kaoru’s shoulder. He kisses the naked skin there, travels down to his nipple, where he bites with a passion. Kaoru moans so loud it’s impossible half the neighborhood hasn’t heard him. “Just thinking how hot it’d be to fuck you when you are only wearing them.”

Kaoru’s too smart for his own good. “A trip to nostalgia lane, Kojiro? That’s so not like you.”

Kojiro uncovers his other nipple and bites even harder. He will wear the shapes of his teeth in a bruised violet for at least half a month. It shouldn’t be as satisfying as it is. 

“You are as bratty now as you were then. It’s annoying.”

Kaoru’s nails scrap on his scalp in punishment. It’s hot. It’s so fucking hot, the rage simmering in Kaoru’s eyes, and how hard his cock is, leaving wet patches on Kojiro’s skin, and the fact he’s fucking mad and still is arching and rutting and demanding to be fucked so hard he won’t be able to walk tomorrow. 

“I bet even then you had a thing for pain,” Kojiro whispers against the wet trails his tongue is drawing on Kaoru’s collarbones. “I bet every time you pierced your ear you got home, hard as a rod, and had to do an all-nighter jerk-off session just to calm down.” Kaoru moans, his heels pushing against Kojiro’s ass, trying to get closer, trying to escape the iron-band of Kojiro’s hold. “Tell me,” he demands. 

“Fuck you.” 

Kojiro licks from the hollow on the base of his neck to his chin, and Kaoru shivers and holds him closer and gasps against Kojiro’s mouth when their lips meet. His glasses are askew over his nose, low enough they are virtually useless. His eyes are hooded, his pupils overblown but still unable to hide the impressive gleam of his golden irises. Kojiro hates how fucking poetic he gets every time Kaoru’s in his arms and under his skin. Pathetic. 

He still kisses him again, and revels in the way Kaoru holds his head in place to deepen the kiss further. 

“I—“ Kaoru gasps, knocks his head against the wall, buries his fingers in Kojiro’s hair. “I had so many piercings you didn’t see.”

Oh, the fucker. There’s a wicked light in his eyes when he looks back at Kojiro. His cock is about to rip his pajamas open, and he knows, _he knows_ Kaoru is about to make it very hard not to come in the next three minutes. 

“Tell me,” he demands again, growls, really, the little head he had left all over the balcony and falling to its death. 

Kaoru’s smile is sharp, and dangerous. “I tried having my nipples pierced,” he says, nonchalant, while Kojiro’s mind is exploding and reconstructing itself in the span of a single second. “I _had_ them pierced. I also—“ he leans forward, a shameless hand traveling down Kojiro’s front to his groin. He palms Kojiro’s cock over the fabric, teasingly, and finishes with a smile, “—had a piercing right here.”

The images are filling Kojiro’s mind in a millisecond. The young Kaoru overlapping with this version, the better one really, because Kojiro is the only one who truly knows how fucked up he is, how bratty and shitty and mean he gets, how he had piercings _every-fucking-where_ , how he knows exactly what buttons to press so Kojiro will fuck him exactly the way he wants. 

“Shit,” Kojiro manages, and that’s the end of his finesse achieved. 

Kaoru snorts loudly at the display of Kojiro’s desperation. Still pinning Kaoru against the wall with his hips, Kojiro leans back enough to make fast work of the stupid yukata. He doesn’t take it all off—he likes to keep Kaoru tied somehow—he just pushes the sleeves low onto the fold of his elbows, enough to limit Kaoru’s range of movement, and with an aggressive push of his hips—Kaoru will have scratches on his back tomorrow—he manages to gather the rest of the fabric around Kaoru’s waist. 

Kojiro leans back just a bit. Kaoru’s flushed, from cheeks to chest, his nipples bruised and glorious under the dim light of the moon and the street. The wet tip of his cock shines, a pearl against the pale skin of his thigh. Kojiro wants to spoil him. 

He doesn’t say anything when he grabs Kaoru by the nape, closing the distance between them, and widens his legs. He doesn’t say a thing when he presses a digit against his hole, and doesn’t wait for permission to enter. He stays quiet and intent when he adds a second finger, and a third, fucking him in earnest. He finally grabs some lube when Kaoru bites his lower lip, but he’s scarce with it. Barely some on Kaoru’s ass, just some on his cock to ease its entrance, but that’s all. 

“I want you to feel it,” he confesses, although no amount of lube would keep him from feeling it, given that Kojiro’s size is considerable. 

“Shut up and just— _fuck_.” Kaoru moans, and moans higher and louder when Kojiro keeps pushing his dick inside of him, relentless. It gives way so easily, Kojiro marvels; Kaoru’s body remembers Kojiro’s shape and weight, fuck, doesn’t it? He’s so tight and yet there’s not even a moment of hesitation until Kojiro is buried to the hilt. 

Kojiro takes a moment to breathe, to get a fucking grip before he embarrasses himself. 

“Fuck, fuck. Move already!”

“Shh, stay quiet for a second.”

Kaoru doesn’t stay quiet. He snarls and bites Kojiro’s neck and jawline and lips, hips stuttering even though Kojiro holds him still with punishing strength. 

“If you want this to fucking last, wait a fucking second!”

Kaoru’s mocking laugh shouldn’t be as sexy as it is. The fucker is contracting his ass every other second, and Kojiro will come if he doesn’t stop. 

“Aha, so the piercings did it for you, huh. Should have guessed a long time ago, what with the way you _always_ wanted me.”

“Oh, for fuck’s—“

Kojiro draws back, and slams back in so hard Kaoru goes up an inch on the wall. Back out again, and so deep in, Kaoru’s moans are now voiceless, his grip on Kojiro’s shoulders digging nails on, probably drawing blood. 

Kojiro can’t look away. The long lines of his neck and chest, the perfect skin now branded red. He glows on the fucking moonlight, which for some reason pisses Kojiro even more, makes him want to fuck him against the wall until he comes, and when he does, without giving him a second to recover, push him face-first against the rail and ram in him again with punishing intent. Fuck. Fuck. 

“Ah, Kojiro, fuck, _ha-harder_.”

Kojiro growls. He can’t help it, doesn’t even know where the hell it’s coming from. Harder, he says, but Kojiro is going hard enough he fears he will break him in half. He puts his hand on his ass, opening his cheeks and letting one finger brush the place his dick is piercing him, and with a slow pace, he lets his other hand travel from navel to neck. An offering, a question. Kojiro’s fingers circle the perfect pale lines of Kaoru’s neck, harsh breaths filling his palm. Kaoru’s eyes are closed, but he frantically nods, and Kojiro closes his fingers around him. 

It’s not a tight grip, but it’s strong enough for Kaoru to know Kojiro has the power to take his breath away. Kaoru gets off on danger—don’t they all?—but this… this is exactly what has Kojiro so caught up in Kaoru’s web: the trust, so reluctantly given, to demand exactly what he wants knowing perfectly well Kojiro will give it to him without contempt. Without a second thought. Or, not truly: knowing perfectly well what he’s doing, but giving zero fucks about the consequences. 

That’s how they end up fucking in these kinds of places; that’s how Kojiro, who has half a brain cell left to be reasonable, takes a step back and forces Kaoru to keep his own weight with only his shoulders, while Kojiro has him pinned still by his neck. Kaoru’s gasping and moaning, obviously uncomfortable, but he meets every one of Kojiro’s thrusts, so wanton it’s unbearable. 

“Make me come already,” Kaoru whines, the sound vibrating against Kojiro’s palm. “Fucking monkey.”

“You know,” he says, and thrusts, once, twice, “I’ve never sucked a pierced dick.”

“Don’t seem to know where the fuck a dick is anyway!”

What a brat. Kojiro stops moving altogether, and the whimper that tears from Kaoru’s throat at that is just— 

Kojiro makes fast work of letting him go, putting his wiggling legs on the floor, turning him around until he’s flush against the roughness of the wall. Kojiro laps at his ear, tries to find the dents left by the piercings, and fails. His cock is nested between Kaoru’s asscheeks, sliding idly up and down. Kaoru’s trembling, brow furrowed in anger, lips red from biting. He looks debauched. 

Slowly, teasingly, Kojiro grabs his throat yet again, pushing his head back, while his cock finds its way back into his body. Kaoru’s trashing, trying to push back and impale himself, but Kojiro wants to make him beg. 

“I can’t fucking believe—“

Kojito thrusts inside, hard enough the wall shakes, and that shuts Kaoru up for good. His cock is against the wall, the thin layer of the yukata protecting it from the worst of it, but still, Kojiro aims for him to grind on it every time he fucks into his heat. Again and again and again. The night is filled with the loud slap-slap of their naked skins, and with Kojiro’s choked breaths, and with the smothered moans coming out of Kaoru. 

There’s no more teasing or talking, just Kojiro wanting to break him in half, and almost achieving it. Kaoru manages to spit some breathless, “Fuck me harder, harder, please, fuck,” that spurs Kojiro into a frantic search for his own pleasure. Karou begging, shit, Kaoru’s voice when he’s about to come might be one of the best sounds Kojiro has ever heard. 

When Kaoru comes, though, he does so silently, the sounds now in Kojiro’s hand; Kojiro—thank fuck—thrusts three times and he’s gone too, fucking so deep Kaoru will be cleaning spunk tomorrow morning still. 

The thought makes his cock twitch, and a spurt lands on the crack of Kaoru’s bare ass. He’s sprawled like a sakura branch in display, shameless and pink in all the right places. Kojiro can’t help it: he reaches for his ass, dips his finger, and enters him, searching for his mark. 

He grunts when he finds it, and again when he spreads it up and down his crack with his thumb. Kaoru’s looking at him from over his shoulder, the glasses nowhere to be seen. He looks well fucked and properly back to his normal, contemptuous self. Kojiro’s tempted of bending him over the railing, just like he’d thought, and break that stupid façade again. 

Instead, he steps back, pushes the hair out of his forehead, grinning. Kaoru tentatively steps away from the wall as well and takes a good look at his clothes. 

“You made a mess of my yukata. Again.”

“That’s your cum.”

Kaoru doesn’t bother with a reply, but his middle finger is enough. He makes fast work of putting everything back in place, finds his glasses on the floor, and without looking at Kojiro, he says, “You still owe me an orgasm.”

Kojiro’s heart leaps into his throat. Managing to keep hope at bay, he just leans back on the railing and smiles as wide as he can. “What, asking for a second round already?”

Kaoru snorts. “ _I_ have a busy life. I’ll let you know when you might give it to me.”

“ _You_ ’ll let me know? What if I’m not in the mood?”

Kaoru looks back at him, and it’s enough to make Kojiro laugh, mirthful. “Fine. I’ll fuck you whenever and wherever. As usual.”

“No need to be so crass. I’ll take my leave, then. Good night.”

Kojiro follows him, stark naked and shameless. He waits while Kaoru, who hasn’t a single hair out of place (only telltales of their encounter the soft brush of red on his cheeks, and the bruise on his lips), puts on his sandals. 

He doesn’t know why he does it; it’s not like they ever do this, what with them having a very strict we-hate-each-other’s-guts-but-we-also-fuck kind of relationship. Maybe it’s the fact it _is_ unexpected, and Kojiro lives to piss Kaoru off. Whatever the reason, before Kaoru can properly open the door, Kojiro grabs him and kisses him. Kisses him deeply and meaningful, because he wouldn’t mind having Kaoru stay the night so they could fuck three, four, ten more times before morning comes, but they don’t do stay overs and that’s okay. Just, Kojiro feels Kaoru should know he wants to fuck him still, and so he kisses him deep and harsh and full. 

When they part—of course, Kaoru answered the kiss; he hates losing—Kaoru frowns at him. “What the hell was that for?”

Kojiro shrugs. “Just felt like it. Good night.”

Kaoru’s staring at him as if Kojiro had grown a second head, but he nods once, takes his things and leaves without another word. 

*

Kojiro sleeps like the dead, and when he dreams, he does of pierced pale skin and golden, glaring eyes, staring at him from behind a wine glass in a place that strangely resembles Kojiro’s true home. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> (this is totally unrelated, but the song [WTF](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1CptfMEEC8g&ab_channel=HUGEL) by Hugel IS the vibe of this ship, I don't make the rules)
> 
> You can find me on my [twitter](https://twitter.com/EllehlEtoile)! I might write some more of these bad boys because their dynamic is just *chef kiss*


End file.
